The Other Side of the Gate
by Bizzy
Summary: Every person has an alter on the Earth side of the Gate. We've met the Edward and Alphonse equivalentbut who are they, and what lives do they carry out on this side of the Gate? [REVISED]


The Other Side of the Gate

Author's Notes: I was reading a fiction earlier this evening (okay, five seconds ago), and it made me wonder things about the Edward and Alfons (I hate that spelling, by the way) on _our_ side of the gate. Are they brothers? Why did Edward here have golden eyes, where Alfons had blue? Why did Edward look so similar where Alfons did not? Was the age difference the same? What parallels can we actually _draw_ between the two realities?

I don't want to do my statistics homework yet or write a several-page essay on social deviance, so here goes… "The Other Side of the Gate"

(By the way, movie spoilers, I guess, if you squint. Because…it will talk about Alfons Heiderich, and it will also give away a few things from the very end of the series. You. Have. Been. Warned. Oh yeah, this is also a _speculation_, since I haven't seen any great explanation of our-side Ed and Al. Here goes!)

**This is an updated version! I wrote more! It's edited better, and all that jazz! Please re-read, if you have the time, there are additional scenes.

* * *

**

"Alfons!"

The younger stirred in the bed, yawning. Light blonde hair splayed in all directions as he slowly sat up, rubbing at tired eyes. His ability to remain awake at indecent hours of the morning to work on some incomprehensible formula was astounding. Edward happened to hate that.

The door to the small bedroom opened, and Edward appeared, arms crossed in frustration. "You're still in bed?"

Blue eyes flitted to the window, where the shades were just slightly drawn to the side. "It's still dark out."

Edward sighed. "You forget so easily, Al." The look of frustration was clear on the older one's face, golden eyes narrowed in slight annoyance. "The doctor wants to see us."

"What if I don't want to see him?" The younger scrubbed his fingers through his hair, yawning once again.

The curt reply only aggravated the older of the two, and he grimaced, "he's been helping us out, Al. We can't afford to see someone regularly, that he'll just give us a good once-over before he opens for work during the day is an offer we can't refuse. Get up." The darker blonde shook his head in frustration. "We have to leave in a couple of minutes if we want to catch him."

Yawning, Alfons dragged himself out of bed. The cough prickled in the center of his chest, and he tried to stifle it, a hand against his mouth hard. He swallowed thickly, feeling the fluid building in his throat, and shuddered. The thought of how much more he had been coughing recently made him sick to his stomach. But it was the thought of his older brother finding out, only to worry about the fact that there was nothing he could do about it that made him resolve to renew the doctor's promise to keep his mouth _shut_.

* * *

Their mother had blue-green eyes. He found himself staring at his brother's eyes offhandedly, imagining her face. He looked a lot like her, Edward had realized, as they both grew older. Where he bore a strong resemblance to his father, Alfons had the same features as his mother. Both hands were shoved deep within his pockets as they meandered down the street. Alfons was particularly reserved this morning, and he found himself wondering why.

Thankfully, the doctor wasn't too far away. It was getting to a point where they could both feel the chill seeping into their bones through the thick coats. Both of their faces were drained of color from the cold that threatened make them sick.

Alfons coughed. Immediately, Edward turned to look at him. Certainly, it could've been the cold outside—but Edward would be lying if he hadn't noticed that his brother had been coughing more and more over the past few weeks. It was simply easier to notice and not ask than to try and get an answer from him, though. Ed knew that he could ask over and over again, but his younger brother was stubborn and wouldn't present an answer any time soon. Ed opened his mouth to ask anyway, and immediately he saw a hand waving in his face, Alfons' way of making it clear that there would be no answer right now—or any other time, at that.

At the door of the doctor's office, both boys heaved a sigh of relief. This meant that the prospect of getting indoors was much more tangible now—and being indoors meant being warmer. After a few moments passed, Edward knocked again, shooting a glance at Alfons, who was huddling under the coat, still stifling a cough as they waited to get inside.

Finally the door swung open, and the doctor ushered in the two cold children. One hand was on each boy's shoulder as he pointed to where they should deposit their coats, and then guided them to an exam room. He was beaming proudly, as if looking at his own sons.

"Now if it isn't the Heiderichs—and you're on time, just like I had requested. That's unusual for the two of you." The doctor's laugh was stinging at the early hour, and both boys cringed just slightly. He released Edward's shoulder and started bustling Alfons to the exam table, turning just slightly to look at the older boy. "Edward, might you just excuse us for a few minutes?"

Edward nodded slowly, though the cross look on his face indicated that he was not pleased with this suggestion. He stalked towards the door, swung it open, and then barely managed to keep himself from slamming it behind him. The doctor immediately turned away from the door when he saw that Edward was gone, and shot Alfons a nasty glare.

"You're pale as a sheet, Alfons," he reprimanded stiffly, eyes narrowed. "I'm surprised Edward hasn't noticed. How are you feeling?"

Alfons shrugged just slightly. "I'm all right." _Liar_.

"Well, let me have a good look." Skilled hands took vital signs of life, listening to the boy's heartbeat and timing the speed with precision. Finally, he pressed a stethoscope to Alfons' chest, and the look on his face darkened, turning to meet the younger boy's blue eyes, his countenance particularly grim.

"Spending a good deal of time with Mr. Oberth, have you, Alfons?"

Al's eyes widened, and he nodded slowly.

"You're a fool! I've told you already that rocket fuel will be the death of you, and all you do in response is spend more time studying with that man. You're just as stubborn as Edward says you are, and you're well aware of it. You need to tell him, Alfons. He'd have to be blind to not have seen your failing health by now, and we both know he has eyes like a hawk."

The boy bit his lip, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he glared daggers at the back of the doctor's head. "He doesn't need to know," he repeated, a phrase that the elderly man had heard uttered from that mouth countless times by now. By then, he had his shirt buttoned up properly, and was already on his feet. He knew what was coming now.

"Get out, and send your brother in. I'll hear no more of your foolishness today," and the man waved a hand at Al, sending him out the door.

* * *

Edward sat quietly on the examination table, hands folded. The doctor seemed off in a distant place, although his hands moved with the expertise of a person who did this for the entirety of their professional life, his eyes were long gone.

"So," Ed began quietly, golden eyes focused on the wall behind the doctor's head. "How is Al doing?"

"You should know," came the doctor's gruff response. "You do live with him."

"I mean physically, sir," Edward corrected, brows furrowed. "He's been so pale, and I hear him coughing at night. It's been getting worse. Is he coming down with a cold? I've been worried."

Removing his hands and turning to the countertop, his back to the older Heiderich brother, the doctor shook his head as he fiddled with different instruments that had no application with this patient, for something to do with his weary hands. "No, not a cold, Edward."

"Am I just worrying over nothing?" Edward was fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, glad for the doctor to have removed his freezing hands, but not pleased with the doctor's reaction to his question.

For a moment, it was silent. The boy swallowed thickly, hands dropping to his sides.

"What's wrong with him?"

Slowly, the doctor shook his head, turning to face Edward once again, the frown evident. "I'm sorry, Edward," he murmured. "What I know, I can't tell you—it was information shared with me in confidence."

Suddenly, Ed jumped off of the table, storming across the room. "How _dare_ you!" he hollered, eyes narrowed, hands balled into fists. "That's _my brother_," he stressed, pressing into the doctor's personal space, ready to swing at him. "That's my little brother and he's _all_ I have left and you're going to stand here and tell me you won't tell me what's wrong with him! I don't believe this!"

The doctor's eyes shot from Edward's face to the door, and faintly over his own anger, he realized that someone was knocking. One of the two mumbled something along the lines of _come in._ The door swung open, and Ed turned suddenly to see Alfons standing nervously in the doorway. Al's hands were trembling, and immediately the older brother retreated from the doctor and went to his sibling. The anger in his tone vanished, replaced by concern. His gaze darkened as he bowed his head just slightly to give his brother a good once-over. "Are you all right?"

No answer. Alfons began to shake his head no when dizziness overtook him, and the edges of his vision became blurry. One pale hand reached out for balance, and it collided with Edward's shoulder.

"Alfons?" There was still no response, just the ragged breathing of someone trying desperately to catch their breath. Ed immediately took Al's shoulders in his hands, "Al, talk to me, are you all right?" It was almost impossible to keep the younger one upright. Finally, Alfons' knees gave out underneath him. They both went toppling to the floor.

* * *

Tucked safely into bed, Alfons was silent and still, sleeping off the effects of the coughing spell that he must have gone through during Edward's argument with the doctor. By now, proper explanations had been given. Alfons had been intent upon studying rocketry since he was old enough to grasp the idea. When he was given the opportunity to study under Hermann Oberth, he jumped at it.

Edward swallowed, closing his eyes as he sat in the chair next to his brother's bed. According to the doctor, it had been Alfons' curiosity about rockets that would send him to an early grave. The rocket fuel emitted vapors that were going to kill him, vapors that were already beginning to take their toll on Alfons' health. He felt foolish for never having noticed. Even more foolish for allowing this to happen.

Sighing heavily, he ran his fingers through his brother's hair. "You are an idiot," he mumbled, shaking his head. "Why didn't you ever say anything to me? Did you think I'd make you stop working with Mr. Oberth? That I'd be angry?" Edward bit his lip. "I'd rather know that you weren't well, Alfons. You're supposed to tell me when you're sick, not act like you're perfectly fine until you pass out. What if we weren't here, where someone would've helped? What if you were on the train coming back from studying with Mr. Oberth? What if you were home alone?" The concern tinged deep in his voice, and Ed tried to settle his frustrations with both himself and his brother.

"You are an _idiot_, and it makes me crazy, Al. You're so stubborn."

Bleary blue eyes opened, and Alfons stared blankly up at his brother. "That's not a very nice thing to say," he murmured.

"Just because its not nice doesn't mean it's not true," Edward retorted quickly, arms crossed.

It was quiet for a moment as Al tried to pull himself upright, obviously trying to register what had happened that got him from the last place he remembered being at—the doctor's office—to where he currently was—in his own bed. Sighing quietly, Al shifted his gaze to the blankets. "I'm sorry, Brother."

Ed peered up from his hands, forcing a weary smile. "At least you're okay now. I just wish you had told me that you didn't feel right."

Al nodded slowly, swallowing nervously. He folded his hands in his lap. Slowly, Edward got up from his chair, and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

He paused, reaching for his coat. "London. I've heard that there are advanced medical practices over there, and they might know something that might help."

Alfons jumped out of bed with a ridiculous lack of grace, and stalked over to his brother. "London is days away from here. I'll go with you." His eyes said what his voice did not; _don't leave me here alone_.

"No. You're staying here, traveling won't be good for you. Doctor's orders," Edward replied slowly. He couldn't bear to turn around to look at Alfons, who he could almost feel trembling behind him. "Get back into bed."

"Edward, wait…"

"I said get back into bed, Al."

The order was strict, and he took a weary step back, shaking his head. He wanted to scream, grab Edward and drag him back into the room and tell him to stop being foolish, that there was nothing here to help his health and there wouldn't be anything in London and he'd rather have company than be sick alone.

"The doctor will drop by to check up on you. I'll write." Now, he was tugging on gloves and wrapping a scarf around his neck to prevent himself from the chill that would strike him as soon as he walked out the door. "Please take care of yourself."

"It's such a long trip. I'll go with you, Brother, please."

"No!" Edward spun around quickly. "Damnit, Al, why don't you understand the word _no_? You'll get worse traveling across Europe! So no, you're staying here!" In a flurry of frustration, Edward swung open the front door and left, slamming it loudly behind him.

* * *

_Dear Alfons,_

_The trip has been slow. I can't remember the last time I spent such a long time in a single train station! Would you believe that none of the trains thus far have been on time, not a single one. It's ridiculous._

_I hope you're doing well. I wish you could have come on this trip, despite the long wait the passing countryside is beautiful. It reminds me of when Mother took us to the fields outside of town, to get some fresh air. I miss doing that._

_I wish that I had some sort of address so you could write back to me. I want to hear how you feel, I want to hear what's happening back home. You'll have to keep track, because I'll want to know every detail when I come home._

_With love,_

_Edward

* * *

_

The news of the air raid came to Germany suddenly. Living on his own in the small apartment he had been sharing with Edward, Alfons hadn't been prepared for what he was told. It had been sudden. A zephyr had been hit, and was sent crashing to the ground, a flaming, deadly projectile. Luckily, the news read, the attack was in a fairly rural area just outside of London, and spare the pilots of the zephyr, there was merely one civilian casualty. Though they could not identify the body by name, the news stated that it was a German male, approximately the age of fifteen or sixteen, golden blonde hair and—this was what had the youngest Heiderich brother reeling—golden eyes.

He had barely managed to finish the paragraph before his mind could process the information.

Zephyr, crash. Just outside of London. German male, fifteen or sixteen, golden hair and eyes. The words brought a picture to the boy's mind immediately, and he let out something that was a pitiful mixture between a gasp and a cry before tossing the paper to the ground in the street.

Edward.

He had gone out to look for something to help _me_, Alfons could hear himself mumble as he walked down the road, feeling tears stinging at the back of his eyes. It wasn't fair. Mother was gone and Father was who-knew-where, and now, Brother was gone—because Edward went to find help for him. Because Edward had been insistent upon at least giving faith one last chance to redeem itself, and instead was given a heaping serving of fate. The accident had sent him on his way to the early grave that he had left Germany to save his younger brother from. The irony didn't escape him. How could it?

* * *

There was no body for the funeral. Whatever fire had burned had incinerated whatever had been left. Though he had contacted the officers who had scoured the scene, all they said they could provide him with was information about the body. They couldn't send remains over the borders of the country and they had no intention to.

The graveyard emptied quickly, and Alfons hated every single person for leaving so quickly. The ground was cold, and he knew it was foolish to sit in the snow in front of a grave, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He rested his head against his knees, closing his eyes, to shut out the silence and stillness of the graveyard. The freshly moved Earth was resting atop what Alfons knew was an _empty_ chestnut casket, and he hated the government in London for forcing him to bury an empty box. That was all this was, a memoriam.

He looked to his left, wiping clenching his fists. He could still come to this graveyard to visit his mother. She was here. Her _body_ was here, whatever was left of her was here. Her casket was not just an empty box.

Alfons swallowed, staring at his brother's empty grave. He couldn't visit his brother here. There was nothing to bind him to the spot, nothing to remind him that this was the portion of the Earth where he had lived out his life. Nothing. Just an empty box that signified what should be a hallowed burial ground.

For the first time since news of the air raid had reached him, Alfons cried.

* * *

With no other means of support, nothing else to turn to, Alfons buried himself in his studies with Hermann Oberth. He spent the majority of his time with the other man, working, studying, formulating and calculating and trying to understand. Trying desperately to leave his mark, because the only person who would have remembered him was long gone. Or so he thought.

It was midday when he had turned to get his lunch from where he had hung his coat, and almost ran directly into a seventeen—perhaps he was eighteen?—year old man, who appeared downtrodden, frustrated, and haggard from what must have been a large quantity of traveling.

For the first time in almost six months, blue eyes met gold, and they both froze. Edward Elric stared at the stranger, whose face bore a frightening resemblance to what his younger brother should have looked like at this age. Alfons Heiderich felt as though he was staring directly at his older brother's ghost. They both stood silent and still, taking in what they could about the situation. If they had recognized each other, the memory was fleeting. Alfons immediately retreated to the safety of politeness, and Edward wiped the look of recognition from his eyes as he began to ask about studying with a Mr. Hermann Oberth—he wanted to go home.

Home to his little brother, whose name was apparently Alphonse Elric.


End file.
